(Alarm Buzz)
"It's 7:00 am already, huh? Guess this is my life now."
I dismissed the alarm and set the phone back on the table beside my bed.
"I should get going," I muttered, sitting at the edge of the bed, reluctant to leave its warmth. My body craved sleep, but my heart ached to rush to the hospital—to see if she was back to normal, if she was… okay.
"How many days has it been?" I whispered to no one, reaching for my phone to check for missed calls. My hand paused mid-motion as I caught a glimpse of myself—how lean I'd become. Was it just a few missed days at the gym, or had the stress and lack of proper meals drained me so much?
"When was the last time I ate?" The thought lingered, but before I could follow it, my phone buzzed.
A missed call. An unknown number.
The caller ID suggested it was from a landline. My heartbeat quickened. Could it be the hospital? I redialed immediately, only to be met with silence.
"Probably a spam call," I muttered. "Elections are around the corner; they've been spamming nonstop." Still, a flicker of hope made me pause. I put the phone back on the side table and headed to the bathroom.
As I stepped under the shower, the tears I'd been holding back finally fell.
"I'm sorry, Hiyori," I whispered, voice cracking. "I've been so useless. I couldn't help you. What did you even see in me?"
The warmth of the water couldn't wash away the ache in my chest. After what felt like an eternity, I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. As I dressed, my eyes drifted to her diary—her precious diary that I'd seen in her hands so often.
How could such a small book hold so much? So many thoughts and emotions she had never shared with me
She never lied to me, but… was I too blind to notice her pain? Was she just that good at hiding it? Or was I simply the wrong person—the one she couldn't trust enough to share her burden?
I ran my fingers over the cover of the diary, its worn edges speaking of countless pages turned. I had read parts of it, despite feeling guilty for invading her privacy. Even now, the torn pages I'd pieced together whispered riddles I couldn't solve.
Who had she written about? Someone she had fallen for? Her words were so vivid, her writing so powerful, it felt as if she were speaking to me—but always just out of reach. I couldn't finish reading it then. Maybe… maybe I'd take it with me, read more in the car.
I pocketed my wallet and phone, grabbed the diary, and stepped out of the house, locking the door behind me. One hand held the diary, the other the car key.
As I slid into the driver's seat and prepared to start the engine, my phone buzzed again.
The same number.
The one I had missed earlier. "Hello, who is it?"
"Mr. Ansh, this is Okibe Hospital."
(My heart races, caught between joy and dread. Is this the moment that decides my fate? Will I get to see her again, or will I lose her forever?)
"Yes?"
"Sir, there's an outstanding amount of ₹3,50,000 that needs to be settled."
"I'm on my way. I'll make the payment as soon as I reach the hospital," I replied, ending the call abruptly.
(How heartless can they be? All they care about is money—not a word about her condition. Do they even realize the pain of the people waiting on the other end?)
The phone buzzed again. It was Mom. I hadn't spoken to her since Hiyori was hospitalized. Maybe I should answer before she starts worrying and rushes here.
"Yeah, Mom. Sorry, I couldn't call earlier."
"I know you're a married man now," she said, her voice calm yet concerned. "But don't forget about the people who raised you to become the man Hiyori loves. How is she? I haven't heard from her in a while."
"We're fine, Mom," I lied. "Just adjusting to this new life together. We'll see you on the 9th of May."
"I knew you wouldn't forget your parents' anniversary!" she said, her tone softening.
"Mom, I have to go. I'm getting calls from the office. Talk soon."
The call ended.
A missed call from the hospital appeared on my screen. I redialed, but no one picked up. Anxiety gnawed at me as I drove towards the hospital. Suddenly, I felt a wave of dizziness and my vision blurred. I fumbled for my emergency glasses but couldn't find them. Forcing myself to focus, I started the car and resumed driving.
The phone buzzed again.
"Yeah, who is this?"
"Sir, this is the hospital. I wasn't able to complete what I said earlier. The patient… she passed away yesterday. There's no need for today's payment. Please come to settle the dues and collect the body."
The call ended.
My hands trembled, and I could no longer control the tears streaming down my face. The world around me felt like it had collapsed. Hiyori was gone. Gone forever.
The notebook I'd tossed onto the passenger seat slipped to the floor. Was I driving too fast? Too slow? I couldn't tell anymore. My body felt frozen, yet everything around me seemed to blur.
"Sir, are you okay?" A distant voice called out. "There's been an accident. The car fell from the highway to the lower road. Sir?"
I closed my eyes, Hiyori's face flashing before me one last time.
The air in the hospital room was filled with a mix of antiseptic and joy. The cries of a newborn echoed softly, signaling her arrival into the world. Nurses bustled about, smiling as they handed the baby to her mother.
"She's beautiful," the woman whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her husband leaned closer, brushing a finger over the baby's tiny hand.
"What should we name her?" he asked, his tone tender.
The mother gazed at the child for a long moment. "Hiyori," she said finally, her voice resolute and filled with warmth. "Her name will be Hiyori."
But as the name left her lips, the child stirred, her small body tensing as if the word had reached a part of her she didn't yet understand. Though newborns couldn't possibly know such things, there was something in her expression—a fleeting shadow of recognition, as if the name awakened a memory buried deep within her fragile, new mind.
Inside the baby's thoughts, fragments of another life flickered and glowed, like embers of a dying fire. Roads. A hospital. A voice that said, "She's gone." The images were fleeting, fractured, slipping away faster than they could be grasped.
For a moment, she seemed to fight against the tide of forgetfulness. But the warmth of her mother's arms and the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat lulled her into sleep. Slowly, the memories faded, leaving only a whisper behind.
Hiyori.